


Relationship Negotiations

by hyperion



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Kink Negotiation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-02
Updated: 2011-09-02
Packaged: 2017-11-15 11:37:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/526882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyperion/pseuds/hyperion





	Relationship Negotiations

Eames had never been inside Arthur’s apartment. He knew that Arthur kept two in Paris: one as a decoy and one as a home, and he even knew the neighborhood in which the decoy was hidden. But Arthur’s home had been impossible to learn anything about. Now that he was here, he felt very underwhelmed. Sure, the fact that he got into this sacred space was positively chilling, but he had expected some super secret dark lair or lavish den covered in stolen art. What Eames had found was a modern, non-descript apartment filled with books, sleek technology, and sunlight.

“It’s nice,” Eames said.

“It’s not what you were expecting,” Arthur translated. “I keep the Picassos at my other apartment.”

Eames gaped. “How did you know?”

Arthur shrugged and led Eames into the kitchen where he put his espresso maker on the stove. It was an old style steam boiler, but made of shiny aluminum that complimented the stainless refrigerator and other metallic accents in the kitchen. “Have a seat at the table. This won’t take long.”

The chairs appeared as if they would be stiff and uncomfortable, all straight backs and hard lines, but they were very nicely cushioned. In less than five minutes, Arthur had fresh espresso for them. “So…” Eames asked, waiting for his drink to cool slightly.

“So let’s talk about this,” Arthur supplied. “I’m going to lay down some rules for our relationship and sex life, and you can add your own, but you either adhere to mine or we stop this. And of course, I will adhere to yours.”

“Sounds fair. What did you have in mind?”

Arthur turned his espresso cup between his hands. “Well, let’s start with our relationship. Do you want one, or do you want this to be sex only?”

Eames squirmed a little in his chair. “Well, I don’t see why we can’t have a relationship. Unless, you don’t want one,” he said carefully, not wanting to hope too much.

“A relationship it is.” Arthur had been a little hopeful too, and he was happy to see Eames let out the breath that he had been holding. “The first thing you should be aware of is that our sex life so far is not our relationship. You might be able to get away with ordering me around when I’m extremely turned on, but don’t make the mistake of thinking that means I’m a fulltime submissive.”

Eames barked out a laugh. “Who could ever make that mistake, darling?”

“Others have gotten confused by it. But those were men who didn’t seem to understand that I am in control, even when I’m tied. And that is the most important thing you need to know. I am in control. I don’t need a safe word, because I’m not going to pretend I don’t love what you’re doing to me, but when I say stop, you will stop.”

“Of course,” Eames said, taking a sip of his espresso.

Arthur continued, “Our sex life so far also is not our sex life. We can have all the rough, kinky sex you want, but you won’t be dominating me every night. Obviously, you prefer to top, but do you like to bottom at any point?”

“Bottoming is infrequent and negotiable.”

“Fair enough. You will also respect me. I’m not into utter humiliation. ‘Filthy little cockslut,’ it’s standard dirty talk. But no slapping and no getting out your latent homophobic self-hate by insulting me. Take it to your therapist.”

“Jesus, Arthur, what kinds of boyfriends have you had?”

“Assholes.”

“I’d say.”

Arthur was silent a moment, and Eames thought that maybe he’d start talking about his past, but Arthur just went on with his rules. “I have plenty of toys, and you are welcome to them, but only if you know how to use them. If you don’t, I can teach you. But if you don’t and you try to use them anyway, I’ll cut your balls off.”

Eames raised his hands to yield. “I actually studied under a world-class domme for a few months.”

“Who?”

“Maîtresse Aurelia.”

“No shit?” Arthur asked. Eames shook his head. “You were part of the Maîtresse Aurelia job?” Eames nodded. “No shit.”

The Maîtresse Aurelia job was a legend, a myth among dream sharers. It involved months of covert operations, more money spent than was gained, and a spectacular gunfight in real life where no one was killed. Some in the business would whisper and insinuate that they had been involved, because it was absolute notoriety, but no one would openly admit to it because it had been such a failure that it almost guaranteed that they would never be hired again.

Arthur should have known that Eames would have been the one to forge Maîtresse Aurelia. One of her clients had information – no one would say what even after the fact. And the team had first tried to extract it from him, but it had been impossible. So the team had turned to Maîtresse Aurelia. The idea was that she was the only one the subject would have confided in, but she didn’t have the information either. The team decided to attempt the subject again, and the forger had to study Aurelia and be taught by her so that he could impersonate her in another extraction attempt. It took four months for the forger – for Eames – to be able to mimic her skill. And he got the information in the end. But as it turned out, Aurelia had caught on toward the end and, knowing that her reputation for secrecy was at stake, she used her contacts to take the team out. The team had awoken to guns in their faces, and the details following were so confused and varied by sources that it was impossible to know what happened. But no one died, not even the people Aurelia had sent to attack the team.

“No shit,” Arthur whispered, sitting back in his chair.

“Will you accept those credentials?” Eames asked, wanting to change the subject.

“Yeah. Acceptable.” Arthur finished off his espresso. “Now, limits. Nothing that can cause long term damage. And when we are on a job, nothing that is going to cause enough lasting pain to distract me. No blood. You break the skin, you stop immediately, release me, and bandage me. I have a scar on my hip from a whip, and my partner didn’t stop. It got infected.”

Grimacing, Eames asked, “So this asshole didn’t stop when you asked?”

Arthur shook his head. “It wasn’t that. I was blindfolded, so I couldn’t see it when it happened. But one lash just burned more than the rest and spiked my endorphins really high. It was great, actually. But by the time we were done, I was a mess, and the cut didn’t get cleaned properly because it had already clotted. So if you break me, you will fix me. What are your rules?”

Eames considered it for a few moments. “I’ve never had this kind of conversation before, so I’m not sure what to say. I guess the stuff about respect and stopping when I ask you to, though I can’t imagine you’ll ever need to stop.”

“Okay. Do you want to check out my equipment?”

Eames smiled. “Please tell me that was innuendo.”

“Soon enough it will be.” Arthur led the way to his bedroom, and Eames was pretty sure the wrought iron headboard – which was very old-fashioned for such a modern apartment – was for securing Arthur’s wrists. Then he thought about how bendy Arthur was, and decided it would be good for securing Arthur’s ankles too.

In Arthur’s walk-in closet was a black cabinet with round, silver doorknobs. Arthur opened it up and stood aside so Eames could look in. Padded cuffs, spreader bars, blindfolds. A bright red ball gag. Eames picked up a neatly tied length of white, silk rope. “Maîtresse Aurelia never taught me this. I always wanted to learn Japanese bondage, but I was afraid I wouldn’t tie the knots properly and they would slip and hurt someone.”

“I can show you. I keep a safety kit in that drawer there. There are a few pairs of scissors. You can use the ones with the blunted tips to cut the rope. But you’ll have a lot of practice before you actually get to tie me like that.”

Eames put the rope back and moved on. A drawer contained an assortment of small pieces. Clamps of varying shapes and sizes. Weights. Light chains to suspend the weights from. Cockrings. Vibrators. Another drawer held floggers and crops. There was a collection of dildos and plugs, all distinct in their sizes and textures. If Eames had not turned his head to say something to Arthur, he wouldn’t have noticed the thin, black cane hanging on the back wall of the cabinet. “Oh, pet,” he sighed, reaching for it. But Arthur caught his wrist.

“That’s not something you’ll be using a lot.”

While he studied under Aurelia, the cane had become Eames’ favorite. “Why?”

Arthur glanced down, the first sign Eames had seen so far that Arthur might not be as entirely confident and casual as he seemed. “It’s something that I have to really be worked up to, you know? It takes hours to get me that far. It’s all headspace, all pain and pleasure, and I’m so far into it that I really need you there. And because it’s so big, there’s a huge drop when it’s over, and I have to know that you can handle that.”

Eames put his hand on Arthur’s waist. “You like it but you won’t allow it to happen often, because you’re not in control,” he surmised.

“And because there aren’t a lot of people I can trust to take me through it.”

Eames pulled Arthur close and kissed him, right there in his closet in front of Arthur’s bondage cabinet, kissed him slowly and softly at first. Arthur wrapped his arms around Eames, fingers catching in Eames’ hair. Eames picked Arthur up and pressed him back into the wall, knocking aside shirts and suit jackets. Arthur broke apart, head back as Eames bit his neck. “You did that on purpose,” Arthur accused, watching as another jacket fell to the floor.

“Did not.” Eames looked down at clothes that lay on the floor, then he smiled at Arthur. “But since they’re there…” Eames pulled Arthur down with him, settling on top of the jackets.

“We are not having sex on my suits. I already have a ridiculous dry cleaning bill.”

Eames pulled off his shirt and kissed Arthur again. “I’ll pay.”

“That’s not the point,” Arthur argued, hands on Eames’s shoulders to push him away. “We can’t have sex on my suits.”

Eames blinked up at Arthur, genuinely bewildered. “You have an entire cabinet in your closet dedicated to messy, kinky sex, but you can’t conceive of fucking in the floor with only the silk linings of your jackets to keep you from getting rug burn?”

“I’m a study in dichotomies. And it is way past time that you act like a gentleman and fuck me in a comfortable bed, anyway.” Arthur got up and walked out of the closet, undressing as he went. “And hang those clothes back up before you come out. And separate the ones that are wrinkled so I can get them pressed. And hang them up so that they don’t get any more wrinkled.”

“Jesus,” Eames huffed.

“What was that?”

Eames recognized Arthur’s offended tone. “Nothing, darling.” Eames was left in the closet, picking up clothes, and wondering how their relationship had gone so quickly from hot, sweaty sex to old married couple. When he finally picked up the last shirt, Eames took one last look at the cabinet and decided that their relationship wasn’t going to start like this. He wadded up the shirt and tossed it into a dark corner. Eames would pay for that later, he knew, when Arthur found it. But he was determined to use the cane before that happened.


End file.
